


When in doubt, bake it out

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [145]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Baking, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, Scenting, True Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28726905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: Moving into a new apartment isn't so bad when all you can smell is the last owner's fancy candles.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [145]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/547894
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21
Collections: Marvel Holiday Scramble 2020





	When in doubt, bake it out

**Author's Note:**

> Super late entry for the Marvel Holiday Scramble 2020. I got my boyos and baking Christmas cookies, and I kinda forgot it was supposed to be Christmas cookies but it's in the month so forgive me. XD
> 
> Also because of my cryptid practice of writing from 3am to 6am, I want to thank Logan for being there to decipher some things I want to say yet never recall on what they were. <3

There’s a reason Brock chose to rent the apartment he’s now moving into and it was mainly because of the homely undertones of vanilla and an array of warm, dessert spices that took him back to another time in life when he was younger, back in Italy.

Mostly he thinks it’s because the previous tenant was into a lot of those scented fancy candles, which usually drowns out all the smells of other omegas and most importantly alphas that surround him and the landlord had already mentioned the person that moved out was an omega. None of it is unpleasant but after a few days he begins to open the window to let the outside world in because while he likes a trip through his memories, he can’t quite focus on other things while it’s as permeating as it is.

He spends a good couple of hours checking through the apartment’s shelves and cabinets in search of the offending candles that maybe were forgotten in the move, but comes up empty handed.

Eventually Brock forces himself to get used to it, it’s not something he finds he can get rid of, not without any effort at least, and he supposes it’s better than it smelling like someone pissed in a corner, or other unpleasantries he’s picked up viewing other places. When he’s out in the hallway a couple weeks later, locking the door, the smell suddenly gets  _ much stronger _ when a man steps out of his apartment next door.

He smells of butter and vanilla, and different kinds of sugar with honey washed over his skin and a kiss of cocoa drifting along fresh baked bread, it all meets together in a kind of foresty, sort of wilderness type of amalgamation he can’t quite put his finger on. It’s a blow to Brock’s senses and he has to draw in a deep breath through his mouth so he can continue to breathe without choking on it.

His neighbor is stuffing a plate, filled with the most mouth watering looking cookies Brock’s ever seen, straight into a trash bag.

“‘Ey, what’re ya doin’ wastin’ those?” Brock protests and pockets his keys, disapproval across his face. His Nonna would have a field day with this guy. 

“What does it look like? Throwing them away. I’ve given away so many cookies, my neighbors need a break.” The man explains, a slight irritation in his voice though Brock’s unsure if it’s directly about him or about his cookie situation.

It suddenly clicks that his neighbor is an alpha, one that smells like a perfect bakery and a forest of trees. Brock makes sure not to let his knees go out under him. He’s always been told he’d know when he smelled his mate, that he’d never have a scent like anyone else, that when it came to him he would know exactly when it happened. But the guy looks extremely murderous, despite the fact that he’s been baking and while Brock wants to see if he picks up on the mate thing too, he could at least save those poor cookies in a way to get to know at least a little about his new alpha. If he can’t eat them, he knows a couple bottomless pits that would.

“Give ‘em ‘ere, I’ll take ‘em.” Brock calls and the guy raises an eyebrow, then thrusts the trash bag right into Brock’s hands and promptly turns away, slipping back into his apartment and slamming the door behind himself.

It takes a second of staring at the door that Brock finally realizes he probably shouldn’t have asked for trash cookies in the first place, but when he opens it to look inside to see how much of a horror show is in there, it’s filled with only cookies and nothing else. There’s various types like oatmeal, chocolate chip, gingerbread and a strong smell of peanut butter from underneath that, all tossed together.

Bracing himself, he plucks a chocolate chip and what looks like macadamia nut from the pile and takes a careful bite. They’re so good he wants to weep, but instead hauls his bag of goodies back into his own apartment and sorts them all out to pack a few in one container for himself so he doesn’t scarf them all by himself and tucks the rest into a larger container for Bucky and Clint.

He eats way too many over the next few days and ultimately works out longer and harder over it. When he’s in bed, most nights are spent thinking about this mysterious alpha that bakes and seems to have not noticed his scent or maybe didn’t even care. But Brock doubts the latter, he seemed too distracted to not bother and Brock’s done it himself before when his oven caught on fire at an old place, it still didn’t stop him from thinking about different angles on it. 

In the daytime, he also mulls over if it is his mate or if he's overexaggerating the smell thing, or what if he’s so awkward he’s baking instead of talking? Bucky says he’s overthinking it, to just go out of his way and introduce himself, but he really could be wrong and he doesn’t want to overstep when he’s just moved in.

He’s really stuck on  _ why _ he’s baking so much, but then again maybe he’s just one of those people that tends to, Brock isn’t too experienced himself but he figures it’s got something to do with liking it a lot or whatever, a hobby of sorts.

When Brock’s a week in, there’s a new smell of apples wafting into his place while he’s sleeping and he dreams about a farmer’s market where all the vendors are shirtless guys. 

In the morning, he almost stumbles over the huge domed Tupperware that holds a freshly baked apple pie which has been waiting at his doorstep.

It becomes a pattern afterwards, albeit somewhat erratic. But brownies, cakes and even strudel appear out of the blue at least once every week to the point where Brock feels a little uneasy about being fed so well by a complete stranger. He settles into the routine quite easily though once he shares the wealth around with his friends so as not to be tempted to eat all of it on his own.

It’s when cookies start coming in every day in droves that begin in decent looking containers, then switch to paper plates and a lot of plastic wrap, until finally they just end up coming in trash bags instead that start hitting some flags.

Brock’s bounty gets shared with not only his friends, but begins to extend to people that are on his good side, getting more than one inquiry about this random bakery he’s been frequenting lately. 

He’s lived in his new apartment for almost two months and Christmas decor starts going up, while annoying holiday music begins to plague him. When coming back from a run through the park, he finds a dozen doughnuts waiting at his door, all filled and decorated with thick layers of freshly whipped icing, ganache or a fruit topping. Some have red and green sprinkles on top, two have bits of peppermint, the one with jelly is decorated like a reindeer and another gets a dash of pumpkin spice. At least his baker goes with the seasons and holidays and It isn’t until four different pies (apple, pecan, pumpkin and cherry) are sitting right there on his doorstep that knows he can’t just leave it like this anymore.

He walks down the hall, pauses at his neighbor’s and takes a deep breath before he knocks, steeling himself for another suspicious glare. Brock only notices the sound of a mixer from behind the closed door when it turns off, and there’s a moment of complete, eerie silence before it’s abruptly opened and Brock’s staring at a really impressive chest.

Taking a hasty step back and readjusting his personal space, his neighbor looks at him with stormy green eyes, most of his body taking up the space of the door he’s allowed open which is covered in a fine dusting of flour. 

There’s silence between then and finally the man lets out a huff. “Yeah?”

Brock doesn’t know what to say after staring at that chest for too long, it’s just _nice and built_ , and he’s grateful that the guy doesn’t slam the door in his face when it takes a few seconds for him to gather his wits.

“Look, I jus need to check on ya. With all the stuff ya leave at m’door, it’s nice and all and I ain’t complainin’ but really, are ya okay?”

That’s not at all what he planned to say, but his neighbor looks a little manic, and not just because Brock probably interrupted his mixing. There are circles under his eyes that he’s sure weren’t there before, like he hasn’t slept in a while.

Instead of answering, the guy’s nostrils suddenly flare and he casts a suspicious and abrupt glance down the corridor, and then at him, narrowing his eyes. His brows do a thing before he steps out of the way, holding the door open.

“Do you want to come in?”

Brock knows from a million horror movies and a handful of school self-awareness videos, as well as the red flag sensation he’s getting, that this is probably a very bad idea. He can probably handle himself in a normal situation though, and he’s been pretty vicious when it’s become desperate, he’s not really an omega to be fucked with. So against his better judgment, he steps in.

The apartment’s layout is similar to his own, only much neater, almost meticulously put together in shades of dark greys and black everywhere. Mostly it’s a mix of new with old, but the old doesn’t seem to clash, it all looks well maintained and even touched up..well minus the ugly fabric covered armchair he has that stands out next to a pristine leather couch

The kitchen area, unfortunately, looks like a bakery exploded all over it; a sack of flour is spilled over the counter and there’s milk cartons everywhere, a black garbage bag sits at the side that’s tipped over and eggshells have spilled out. Two stacks of baking sheets sit side by side, one neat and obviously clean, the other haphazardly bunched together and in need of a wash.

“Uh..yeah.” Brock says, not sure how to approach the subject of maybe, just maybe, the guy really isn’t alright. When he glances his neighbor’s way to try to get a clue on the situation, it’s a bit of relief to find him looking just as awkward but smiling a little.

“Helps me cope with things. I finished a tour, just came back twelve weeks ago.” He clarifies and moves back into the kitchen area, cracking some eggs into a medium sized mixing bowl. After a beat, the stand mixer also goes on, the glass under the beater showing him that he’s creaming together butter and sugar.

Brock can see where he’s coming from, there’s something relaxing about watching this man work; all the controlled, precise movements and complete focus on what’s before him. It’s almost immediate that Brock finds himself slipping onto a flour-dusted barstool, mesmerized by the process.

Well, he’d be lying if he said that the baking is the only thing that captures his attention. Up close like this, in this alpha’s private space, Brock has the time to really look at him (And if he’s being  _ really _ honest here, smell him). 

He’s a lot less intimidating with a whisk in his hand and smudges of beige colored batter all over his black apron, but no matter what, his scent still makes Brock’s insides tingle. While before his eyes showed a certain distrust in them, now that he’s in his element, they look more soft and gentle, laugh lines around the corners. It’s a different image to imagine for a man who saw any sort of military combat. His hair is growing back, what seemed to be short and cropped, is slowly getting unruly, bits of it falling over his forehead and suits him better like this despite not knowing how it really looks from before. The barest hint of stubble gives his jawline that sharply defined look that Brock longs to touch, and the thought startles him for a moment. 

There’s both strength and vulnerability in the set of his neighbor’s shoulders, in his long limbs, and the way his fingers wrap around the handle of the whisk. Brock suddenly feels like he must stay and make sure that everything’s okay with this guy.

“Maybe bakin’s a nice way to cope m’sure, but maybe get some sleep too, yeah?” He suggests. All he gets in return is a shrug. After a moment, the alpha stops whisking just long enough to glance at Brock and give him a good look into those forest pine eyes.

“I can’t. It’s fine though, it’ll happen when it happens.”

He says it in a way where he’s still smiling to himself, a little sympathetic in the tone enough to agree with what Brock’s probably thinking, which is: For how long? Brock’s been breathing in the scent around the room and it’s probably why the gentle, casual conversation of insomnia is a little sexy to him. It is though, trying to reel his mind in from inappropriate thoughts while he’s sitting in a stranger’s kitchen as he’s baking to relieve some level of stress and anxiety.

“Would ya like me to go?” He asks, suddenly realizing he’s not sure if he’s really welcomed in this man’s space or if he’s just being polite.

“I was more wondering when you were going to point out the obvious I missed at our first meeting in my sleep deprived state.”

Brock stares at him for a long time until he sees the alpha’s nostrils flare again and he shakes his head. “I wasn’t gonna say nothin’ unless you did. Ya looked like ya wanted to be left alone and I jus moved in barely two months ago. I wasn’t gonna be like ‘Ey, ya smell real nice, like a bakery bundled around evergreens or some shit but there’s more to it than that. I think we were meant to talk’ or whatever.”

It earns a smile, a real one, from the alpha in question and he can’t help mirror it.

“You smell like home, like a  _ real _ home.” He admits back, shoulders squared like there was a need to make sure Brock heard him. “I..there’s no proper way to explain it. But there’s an earthy aroma like coffee, and freshly baked, warm bread and things that don’t have a pinpointed smell yet are so familiar from childhood and- ”

“Ya smell ‘em on me.” Brock finishes, because _yeah_. This guy has that too with him. “We should..talk, but maybe after when you ain’t set on autobake and get some rest.”

He nods in agreement, goes back to what he was doing. It’s a comfortable silence that feels good, welcomed even.

“Thanks. For coming by I mean.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes Brock feel like he wants to preen, he doesn’t though, stops himself from being embarrassing, there’s plenty of time for that later. But sitting here watching those long fingers sifting out flour from measuring cups while he’s doing nothing is already making Brock restless, so he hops off the stool and smiles a little.

“Can I ‘elp?”

The assessing look the neighbor gives him, lingering and focused, turns Brock’s knees weak all over again.

Eventually, the guy nods, like Brock has passed some sort of a test he wasn’t aware he was taking. “You can get the walnuts.”

It takes a bit of crafty searching in all the chaos within the kitchen, but Brock feels unexpected peace wash over him as he prepares ingredient after ingredient to the sound of the alpha’s surprisingly quiet, precise commands. Brock has never really baked anything before, and the first few times, he worries about asking for exactly what he means when he doesn’t get something, but his neighbor never makes Brock feel stupid. Instead, his patient responses unwind something in his chest, some tension that he wasn’t even aware was there until it’s gone, leaving behind an odd sense of calm, and he assumes it’s directly related to what they’re supposed to mean to each other, strangers or not. It’s only when the last baking sheet with cookies is slid into the oven that he feels unsettled all over again.

He doesn’t know where to go from there, how to walk away from this random baking session with a guy he doesn’t know at all aside from the awareness that there’s a biological connection between them, and how he’s using all baking as a coping mechanism for what, he’s unsure but assumes is over being a civilian again. He turns to the guy to say something and finds him much closer than expected, watching Brock with that disconcerting gaze, and it feels like it’s piercing into his very soul though not in a terrible way, like he can see Brock’s reluctance to leave.

That now very strong pine forest scent is everywhere, stronger than ever now that Brock’s been spending the time in this apartment and it clings on himself. It messes with his head, makes him feel dizzy and fearless, and before he knows it, he’s reaching out and twisting his flour-stained fingers into the alpha’s shirt and tugging him close.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, from one or both of them he can’t tell right then, and the guy stops barely an inch from Brock’s face.

“Hey.” Brock whispers, and it’s always sounded so stupid in all the movies, but it fits perfectly here, two strangers-apparent-mates meeting in an unexpected place, in an impossibly perfect moment that exists in the sweet scented air between them. The man studies him and up close, Brock can see something shift in those green eyes, a fear. The guy starts pulling away but Brock’s having none of that, unwilling to part with this bubble of peace and warmth he’s been given, not yet at least. He moves forward and almost collides with him as their lips meet in a hasty, misaligned kiss that feels more like a general idea than what he’s aiming for. 

But then the alpha gets it, lets out this tiny sigh and tilts his head and his hands trail powdered sugar into Brock’s hair, it becomes a proper kiss then, unhurried, close-mouthed, but so damn perfect that Brock feels his throat go all tight, together with his stomach and his heart. It’s all aligned just right, and this must be how it feels, how it  _ really _ feels when you find that person who you’re supposed to belong with because that’s how it does for him and there’s no other way to take it.

The slow, languid pace keeps them occupied until the nutty cinnamon-vanilla aroma wafting from the oven slowly shifts into something charred and the apartment begins to get all smoky. It takes both of them a while longer to shake out of their daze enough to realize that the cookies are burning.

The guy swears under his breath and hastily turns towards the oven to try and save the batch, all the while Brock feels like he’s been torn out of a really good dream. It officially sinks in that he came here to maybe offer an olive branch and be an ear to rant to, only to end up kissing a complete stranger. The argument that this is apparently someone that he should do this with goes right out the window as his brain rationalizes things, telling him he needs to pump the brakes a bit here no matter what his omega instincts are dreaming in relation to domestic bliss with this obsessive baker.

“I should- ” He starts, backing away from the kitchen in a sudden burst of panic, but before he can properly turn away, he’s stopped in his tracks by that deep voice, almost eerily calm.

“That’s a first, burning something while kissing someone.” His neighbor says, his back to Brock, leaning over the counter with the blackened cookies. His shoulders are set and it reminds him of past memories of his father looking that way before all hell broke loose, or maybe Brock’s reading too much into this, but it’s too reminiscent to him, a reminder of how easily Brock’s getting into something that could potentially put him in hot water.

He opens his mouth to apologize, or say  _ something _ to avoid any issues, but then he watches him turn to glance his way over his shoulder. It’s in his eyes, there’s something unexpected there, and he doesn’t seem upset at all about the cookies. Actually, he looks amused, hell, if Brock’s not making shit up with his eyes, maybe even _fond_. His heart lurches at the thought.

“I’m Jack.” He offers, and that’s when Brock realizes he just spent at least twenty minutes making out with a guy he didn’t even know by name.

It makes Brock bark out a laugh and the tension seems to dissipate from the entire room, instead of fleeing he takes those five steps back to  _ Jack’s _ side and lets himself be folded into a hug that fits so well around him that he can’t help but wonder how it would feel to wake up in those arms.

How it  _ will _ feel, because there’s little doubt when he feels the pleased rumble in Jack’s chest against his own and the way he’s scenting him along his neck, he absolutely doesn’t mind it.

“M’Brock.” He says in return as he shamelessly rubs against Jack’s sharp jaw and takes advantage of the fact that there are no more cookies to burn.


End file.
